


Testament

by theinkwell33



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Asexual Relationship, Bittersweet, Canon-Typical Dark Themes, Cat adoption, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Leitner Books (The Magnus Archives), Love, M/M, Queerplatonic Relationships, Rituals, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), The Beholding Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), The Great British Bake Off References, The Lonely Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), an epilogue of sorts, catalogue of the trapped dead, cow-print sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27686384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinkwell33/pseuds/theinkwell33
Summary: “Martin. I’m a being of fear. An avatar of horrors. How do you kill something like me?” Jon waved his hands as if waiting for him to fill in the answer.Martin just blinked at him.“You love it,” said Jon.-Or, the story of how Martin and Jon discover the secrets to unraveling the horror-scape of fears during their time in the Scottish Safehouse. Five years later, they're free - Martin owns a bookshop, Jon is emotionally invested in the Great British Bake Off, and they're adopting a cat. There was a price to be paid for this small domain of happiness, of course, but sometimes a good epilogue is worth it.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 28
Kudos: 129





	Testament

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to this story's two amazing betas, meinposhbastard ([AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinposhbastard/profile), [Tumblr](https://meinposhbastard.tumblr.com/)) and cosmya ([AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmya/pseuds/cosmya)).
> 
> This story lifts ideas from episodes 111, 160, and general themes from season 5, so spoilers do apply.
> 
> Lastly, this is fic of a horror podcast, so canon-typical horror elements are mentioned. There are some minor warnings, but they are spoilers, hence the use of "Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings" tag. If you'd prefer to know the general reasons for the tagging, see the end notes for detailed warnings and/or a synopsis. This makes the fic sound a lot darker than it is, though; at least 80% of this is fluff.

Only the very, very lost ever stumbled upon the quietest bookstore in London. 

It was a modest place, tucked away from the main thoroughfares and sheltered under a behemoth high rise. The entrance was always in shadow somehow, even when it was sunny outside.

It rarely ever had customers, and the owner of the bookstore liked it that way. He knew how to vanish, and how to make this place retreat from the world. After all, Martin Blackwood knew there actually was something to being a tiny bit lonely.

He spent his days minding his shop and occasionally departing to run errands. When he went out, he was always very careful to lock the shop up behind him. He had a duty of care; his bookstore was home to precious things. 

Martin was not a true hermit. He popped across the road to get something to eat for lunch. He frequented the nearby parks. Occasionally he took some time off to stroll through a museum. But in his daily jaunts to get fresh air, he dared not stray to the intersection of where the Magnus Institute once stood. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend it never existed.

Martin has owned his shop for five years. It was a drastic improvement from his time at the Magnus Institute, and thankfully, very few people asked him about it these days. Everyone either knew better, or could not ask.

These days, Martin’s life was blessedly normal. He visited his few friends occasionally - Georgie was even teaching him to play guitar. He spent a week’s vacation at Daisy’s cottage in Scotland every year, taking along a special set of books and a couple of tape recorders.

When people asked about what Martin got up to, he was honest but vague. He said he was adopting a cat, or that the tea shop he likes was having a sale this weekend. Or, that he did a lot of reading. All these things were true. But not the whole truth.

In the evenings, he exited the bookstore via the concealed door at the back, which led to the lobby of the high rise. He ascended to the fourteenth floor, to the flat he specifically chose. He was adamant with the superintendent that the windows and doors be airtight, and luckily nobody questioned him on it.

Once there, he put the kettle on, changed out of his work sweater, and put on a different one. With this ritual, he became Off-Work Martin. 

This version of him shared his life with someone else, laughed more, and wore sweaters with cow patterns. He was softer, more vulnerable, more weathered. Rather than Work Martin’s preference for milder milk tea, he even indulged in the habit of making tea the way Jon liked it - black, strong, and scorching.

He pulled the infuser from the water at last, capped the teapot, and assembled a picnic basket the way he did every night during his ritual. Teapot, two cups, dinner for two, a couple candles.

He then exited the flat and proceeded back to the shop, entering the way he left.

With pleasure, he locked all the doors, shuttered the windows, and turned the sign to WE ARE CLOSED. The sign also had a little eye below it that proclaimed, SMILE, WE CAN SEE YOU. It was a great deterrent for burglars and other things, and was also Jon’s private joke.

Once the place was secured, Martin lit his candles and set out the spread on the small, rickety table near the Fiction section. He spent every dinner there. His flat upstairs didn’t even  _ have _ a dining table.

He poured the two cups of tea, and set up Jon’s spot.

And then, rather than go to the door to let him in, he approached a bookshelf hidden in shadow and lifted the Catalogue of the Trapped Dead from its place.

It was a horrid book, really, but Martin had seen many horrid things in his life, and decided that it fell rather lower on the list, comparatively speaking. He propped it up on the bookstand at the end of the table, open to the last page.

And, the way he did every night, he read the words aloud.

* * *

_ Five Years Earlier - At The Cottage _

_ Martin sat in the kitchen nook, engrossed in cataloguing tapes. A sudden thump against the table startled him into alertness. He looked up through the cloud of dust to first see the Skin Book, and then see Jon’s scarred hands resting atop it. _

_ “Nope,” said Martin, sidestepping out of his chair and aiming for the front door. He’d face the eldritch new world of monsters over that book. He would. “Nope.” _

_ Jon picked up the book and fluttered after him. “You haven’t heard what I was going to say.” _

_ “I don’t need to, Jon, that book is bad news.” Martin started to power-walk. Jon kept up easily, even though he was significantly shorter. It was infuriating. _

_ “Martin, please, you know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have a good reason.” _

_ “A good reason to use a Leitner? Do you hear yourself?” _

_ “Yes,” said Jon, sounding harried. “I know how it sounds, but trust me. It’s the only way. I didn’t smuggle this out of the Institute for nothing.” _

_ “The only way to what?” Martin was cruising down the front hallway now. At his rate he might actually break a speed record of nopenopenope-ing his way out of a situation. _

_ He didn’t realize Jon had stopped walking for another five seconds. When he turned around, Jon was standing at the other end of the hallway, the book clutched to his bony chest. He looked so forlorn Martin couldn’t help but sigh. _

_ “Fine,” he said as he walked back to Jon. “What do you want to do with it?” _

_ Jon waited until he was very close before looking up, eye to eye, his face as solemn as a grave. _

_ “I want you to put me in it.” _

* * *

Jon looked the same as ever. It was no surprise, really, but the fact that he was here at all was the only thing that mattered to Martin. He took in Jon’s disheveled appearance, the purple and grey sweater, and the scars on his skin. He did look somewhat younger, but it wasn’t because he was ageless. It was because he was free.

For most people, immortalization within a book such as the Catalogue would be a prison. But Jon was not most people. He wasn’t even human. And as he said often, being with Martin and restoring the world to natural order was worth the price he paid.

Martin handed him a cup of tea, which he enthusiastically accepted. Mist swirled around Jon’s fingers, the perpetual reminder that he was only somewhat corporeal. But he could hold a teacup, or a hand, or a kitten, and that was enough.

“Thanks. Is this Ceylon?” asked Jon, clearly savoring the aroma.

“Yeah, loose leaf.”

He closed his eyes. “My favorite.”

“I know.”

It wasn’t technically possible for Jon to blush, but he did become somewhat foggier, so Martin assumed that was the same thing.

“I missed you.”

“Jon, we see each other every day. We probably have more meals together than most couples in this city.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I missed you too. Oh, and you’ll like this. I made pierogies.”

“From scratch?” Jon raised his eyebrows. “Did you use that recipe I told you about?”

“From your aunt’s cookbook, published 1989, yep.”

“They’re so good,” Jon admitted. For him, food was sort of irrelevant, but it didn’t stop him from enjoying it. Martin made him a plate and they ate together the way they always did. It was unclear whether Jon could actually taste anything, but he admired Martin’s burgeoning culinary skills all the same.

When they were finished, they got to talking. “I went by the shelter again today,” Martin said, pulling out his phone. “I think we can narrow it down to two, if you want. The lady said the adoption papers don’t take long, so we could have a cat by next week.”

“Oh, excellent.”

He showed Jon two pictures of cats - one named Buffy, the other named Eckleburg. They were both fluffy and unfairly cute.

"Do you have a preference?”

Jon snorted. “Both of them. Let’s get both.”

“Not helpful, we have to choose. Apparently they don’t get along, wouldn’t do well in the same space.”

He groaned.

“Don’t be melodramatic, just help me pick our cat.”

“Can I see them again?”

“Course.” Martin handed him the phone. “When I visited them, these were the vibes I got: Buffy acted like she could tear my arms off, but all her fluff got in the way before she could do any real damage. Eckleburg stared into my soul like he’d predicted my death with perfect accuracy. He was very clearly never planning to tell me anything, he’d just enjoy having the knowledge.”

“Sounds like me.” Jon’s mouth ticked up into a grin.

“Is that you expressing a preference?”

“It’s me making a choice between two good options,” Jon said, suddenly pensive. “I haven’t had to make a decision with no negative consequences in a long time.”

“Well, we’ll see about that - Eckleburg could be a right menace for all we know.”

“There’s only room for one menace in this place and it’s me, Martin.”

“Yeah,” he said fondly. “Yeah, it is.”

* * *

_ Five Years Earlier - At The Cottage _

_ "Do you know what love does to beings of fear?” asked Jon from his position at the kitchen table. He’d finally convinced Martin to sit down after his initial request, but Martin still felt cagey about the whole thing. _

_ Jon had that intense look in his eyes. Like he already knew how the whole conversation was going to play out but was trying not to show it. _

_ “No,” Martin answered cautiously. _

_ “It destroys them. They feed off of people shrinking away in terror, in the quickening of heartbeats, the cold sweat on the palms. Love...starves it. That’s something it can’t consume. So. It is… incompatible.” _

_ “I don’t follow.” _

_ Jon was staring into the distance now, though, and didn’t seem to hear. He just kept going. “That’s why none of the rituals succeeded. A show of love for a being who cannot withstand it - it stops them. It prevents their full emergence into the world. Gertrude might’ve been getting close to this answer, but I suspect I might be the first to actually get here. To understand your enemy, you must become them, I suppose.” _

_ There was an awkward pause. Martin’s chair squeaked as he shifted, confused. “So…” _

_ “So. Martin. I’m a being of fear. An avatar of horrors. How do you kill something like me?” Jon waved his hands as if waiting for him to fill in the answer. _

_ Martin just blinked at him.  _

_ “You love it,” said Jon. _

* * *

“Any news on your end?” Martin asked.

“Not really, I’m still… er, blinded, metaphorically. Things are still okay out there, right? No eldritch monsters preying on people?”

“No, they’re trapped in the book, same as you.  _ Because _ of you. Jon, I know you ask me every time, but I can still assure you. What we’re doing… it’s working.”

Jon sagged against his chair with relief, his eyes closed. “Good.”

“Jon?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you… in pain?”

Jon’s eyes popped back open and he tilted his head like a curious peacock. “Ummm.”

“Well, if you have to think about it-”

“Not in the ways that matter. It’s… it’s complicated. Like, you and I both know from Gerry that being in the book hurts humans, but I’m not really human, am I? It’s… it’s not the most comfortable, but even before all this I always felt  _ off _ . Tons of knowledge pouring in all the time, holding a dam of water back with a flimsy door and yet… I was reliant on Knowing. I needed it to live, even if I drowned in the process. This is… better than that was. A lot better. Worth it.”

Martin ran a sleeve across his eyes and busied himself with pouring them both another cup of tea.

“I love you,” he said. “I  _ know  _ you know, but-”

“It’s nice to be told,” Jon finished. “I know.”

* * *

_ Five Years Earlier - At The Cottage _

_ "Jon, I don’t want to kill you.” _

_ “It’s not really the same. I can’t really die, but in order for this to work, for us to restore things, I just need to be… existentially dead.” _

_ “Dead is dead. This isn’t The Princess Bride!” _

_ “You know what I mean. I think this’ll work. I need to be bound to the book. It’d restore everything back to the way it was.” _

_ “Jon, what are you saying?” _

_ “I’m… I’m saying that if we were to truly end this, I’m the lynchpin. I’m marked by all these fears; they’re tied to me. If I go, they all go with me.” _

_ “You can’t eradicate fear.” _

_ “No, but you can reduce it to a story.” _

_ “What?” _

_ “I know why all those statements didn’t like being recorded digitally, Martin. Think about it. They’re resistant to having their stories told; of the creatures being chronicled, remembered, warned about. The tape recorders were analog enough to capture them, but think about the statements themselves, the words on paper. Pinning down the fears. What’s more analog than words? Books?” _

_ “But the statements don’t keep the fears at bay, we can’t just put them in a book. And the tapes aren’t enough either, they’re just… witnesses.” _

_ “Right.” Jon pushed the Catalogue across the table towards Martin. “But I’m the Archivist. So it has to be me. And it has to be  _ this  _ book.” _

_ “So you want me to kill you… and then stick you in there? And that’ll bind all the fears to the book and keep them from roaming the world?” _

_ “I mean, yes.” _

_ “Jon, this is beyond insane.” _

_ “Does that mean you’ll do it? Is that a yes?” _

_ Martin glanced out the window. He wished he could see cows. But instead, that awful eye in the dark heavens was seeing him. That, oddly enough, was what made up his mind. He was doing it for Jon. For the world. And the cows. _

_ He sighed deeply. “Yeah, yeah, it’s a yes. Tell me the plan.” _

* * *

“What do you want to do tonight?” Jon asked. The tea cups sat abandoned with the spotted dregs floating at the bottom.

Martin turned on a few of the lamps, as the sunset had finally darkened the room. In the cozy glow, Jon’s form seemed even more wispy and ethereal. He could’ve been a ghost, if things were simpler.

“Well, we have lots of options. I’ve got loads of books, obviously. We could finish the baking show, or we could play Scrabble-”

“No, no, we are never playing Scrabble again,” Jon waved an accusing finger. “You cheat.”

“I do not.”

“ _ Wnt _ is not a word.”

“It is too. It’s the wnt pathway - has to do with limb growth.”

“Lies,” declared Jon.

“It’s not,” Martin promised, and he laughed through it. It felt  _ good _ . “Okay, so no Scrabble.”

“And seeing as I’m already quite the… ah, bookworm, maybe we take a break from reading tonight.”

Martin agreed that was fair, seeing as Jon kind of  _ was _ a book, if you wanted to be technical about it.

“So that leaves the baking show,” he offered, and Jon gave him a thumbs up. They migrated to the back room, which was set up more like a den, with a plush sofa, tons of blankets, and a television mounted on the brick wall. Jon settled himself on the sofa, tangling his limbs in a position half-way between a slouch and a yoga pose.

Once Netflix was up and running, Martin came to sit beside him. He put his arm around Jon, who leaned into it instantly. It should’ve been odd, watching telly with an undead avatar of fears, but they both knew it was the closest thing to a happy ending either of them was likely to get.

This wasn’t a fairy tale, but that didn’t mean there were some good moments. Martin felt they’d rather earned a denouement that featured a bookshop, Bread Week, and Jon’s head on his shoulder.

* * *

_ Five Years Earlier - At The Cottage _

_ “You see,” Jon explained over tea. Or, well, the tea had turned out to be Not Tea, and Martin had stomped it out into a black, spiny puddle near the oven. “People don’t fear stories the way they fear reality. The mere act of transcribing it makes it less real. It’ll damage the connection the fears have to the world, like shutting the doors so they only get in through the cracks. The real order of the way things should be will resolve itself in the absence.” _

_ “Why does this have to be the answer? You told me that it hurts people to be in the book like that. I don’t… I don’t want you to suffer.” _

_ “Martin, everything happened because of choices I made. I have so much guilt. For choosing it. For liking it. I can See so much of the world I destroyed, and I am already in pain every moment I don’t fix it. Believe me, the book is preferable to that, any day.” _

_ “But you said it yourself, you can’t die. The book won’t work on you.” _

_ “Actually, I think,” Jon murmured slowly, “if someone used love, it might. It’d have to be dispensed often. Consistently. So it’d be enough to keep me from healing enough to come back out of the book. I’d be dead enough for it to make a difference. To keep the fears pinned down in words only.” _

_ “Like… a ritual?” _

_ “Yes, exactly. We know the rituals fail to bring the powers forward  _ because  _ the love nullifies them. So… try to bring me out. With… uh, love. And paradoxically, it should anchor me in there.” _

_ "Well. Um. How - how do you suggest I do that?” asked Martin. _

_ Jon grinned. “Have dinner with me?” _

_ “That I’ll do any day, every day. Is that all?” _

_ “That’s all I’ll ever need. So we have a deal then?” _

_ Martin held out his hand and Jon took it. “Deal.” _

* * *

At the end of the night, they said their goodbyes. Jon pressed a cool, misty hand to Martin’s cheek, they made plans for the following night, and then Martin closed the book.

As he shelved it, the promise of tomorrow tingled on his skin, the same way he could still feel where Jon had run his thumb across his cheekbone. 

They had a future, they had each other, and they had their own story. It wasn’t perfect, but it would always be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Major character death, and binding a character to Leitner's skin book. These are not described in detail, only alluded to. The character death is temporary.
> 
> Synopsis: Jon discovers the only way to undo the events of episode 160 is to bind himself to the skin book, and to do so, he enlists Martin's help to kill him with love and prevent him from healing enough to come back out of the book.
> 
> Feel free to say hi on [tumblr!](https://splitting-infinities.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
